ON THE WATER'S EDGE

The piers were never used anymore, and could not be sold or ‘redeveloped’ either. After independence laws had been passed that limited non-native ('peranakan') ownership and property transfers, and everything that was still legal required voluntary contributions to someone’s retirement fund. In order to maintain the claim of possession, there were caretakers living among the warehouses. Once these had been the poor relatives of the various owners, nowadays most of the occupants were lesser-status male college graduates from the extended family waiting for the chance to emigrate.


The water was too shallow for large ships, too deep for a stilt-village, and the old sailing schooners that used to ply the inter-island trade no longer visited – there was no local swallows nest anymore, and nobody gathered trepang. The natives in the hills had been chased further inland, and consequently not enough resin was harvested to make it worthwhile.

The new jetty, which jutted far out into the sea, berthed freighters shipping rubber or plastic goods and rice from the factories in town, as well as the occasional tanker from further down the coast. You could see the vessels moored out in the straights awaiting their turn. It was a constantly changing view.

A bit further down, where the shore gradually sloped into the breakers, the Sama had built a settlement of clutter, sheds, pontoons, and moored boats. The tide took care of the refuse, but it still stank. People said it was because of what the Japanese had done there over forty years ago.


RESIDENCE AT PUNDO LANANG

It was better on these piers than elsewhere in the city, especially after nightfall, when breezes carried moisture in from the sea. On some days a sudden torrential downpour in mid-afternoon would have dumped much water on the wharf, and the coolness stayed longer, sometimes till sunset.
At night time, in between the warehouses, braziers would be lit, coffee and simple meals prepared. The caretakers lived fairly Spartan lives, they hardly spent the family stipend, and seldom even opened the tins of meat from overseas. Fresh fish bought from the Sama might be grilled – it was good with chilies and bottled condiments. So were the local vegetables, mostly eggplant and amaranthus (daun bayem). Other than occasional forays to the toko they rarely ventured out of the precinct.
The quietness had grown on them, and some who had spent years there had become reclusive.
It was silent. It was… very peaceful.

When there was a breeze, and often this was only after dark, it felt velvety among the sheds and warehouses, and you could hear the rustling of the leaves of a great many potted plants, or the trees at the intersection of the beach road and the cargo path. Seldom strong enough to ruffle hair, but nevertheless a happy-making circumstance. Much nicer were the downpours that happened two or three times a week, suddenly drenching everything with sheets of water for ten or twenty minutes. Once the rain stopped, it took only a few minutes for all the water to evaporate, especially on the beach road and at the new all-concrete jetty, and the blast of heat from the hard surfaces would resume with greater ferocity. But at Pundo Lanang, the moisture did not depart as fast, stray coolness could be felt between the buildings and under the eaves.

Mosquito nets were absolutely essential, because of pockets of unseen standing water, and the lack of air-conditioning. The smoke from cooking fires kept some of the bugs away, as did the trays of smoldering leaves from a local plant that was spicy-sharp and vanilla-like but not sweet (daun apa?), with which the curtains around the bed would be censed ten or twenty minutes before sleep. Sandal wood incense (tjandana) had the same effect.
Cigarettes worked best of all, it was said. But that could have simply been an excuse.
Oil lamps also gave that result. Or maybe they just stank profusely.

Sometimes a dab of minyak kayu putih on the skin was recommended; good for sore muscles, strong smelling – if it didn’t repel the mosquitoes, it would soothe their bites.
I think some people simply used it as an air-freshener, however.
Or even a personal fragrance.

If you weren’t used to the heat in this part of the world you might wake up two or three times a night, drenched in sweat and freezing. A few minutes later you would be dry, and again far too warm.
Go outside and dump a scoop of water over yourself, not so much to cool off (the water was always warm), as to cleanse the skin. Otherwise you will feel gritty and unsocial at daybreak.
At times the splish splish of someone else doing the same could be heard, from very far off. That, plus the almost imperceptible creaking as things all around cooled down, murmured voices from somewhere on the piers, and the sounds of stealthy living things, were what kept the place from being entirely still.
It felt comfortable.


Warm rain. Hungry, not hungry. Greedily happy.
Smoothness. Coffee and fried rice with fish.
Flag down a pedicab to head into town.
Ice with syrup and condensed milk.

Doze in the daytime. Read and smoke cigarettes half the night.

There will be another boat in two weeks.


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